Of Wee Folk and Shotguns
by Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands
Summary: Sam and Dean investigate a case with a killer leprechaun, but when the victims are discovered bloodless, they begin to suspect another creature. Friggin fairies. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to _Supernatural._**

**Author's Notes: This is not a crossover with the _Leprechaun_ movies—I just had a mental image of someone asking me that. Also, the story is set in season three after "Mystery Spot." The setting isn't actually very relevant.**

**Of Wee Folk and Shotguns**

**Chapter 1**

_Florence, Alabama_

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, stinging when it landed at the corner of his eye. The evening air was chilly, but he felt none of it. The Ecstasy in his body was still at work, leaving him flushed, but it certainly didn't help to calm his fear. His throat constricted when he thought about the drug he'd taken a few hours earlier. Was that what had caused him to trip out? Surely this couldn't be happening. E didn't cause this effect, but how could . . .? Things like this simply didn't exist.

He stopped the cry from leaving his mouth when he heard the strange footsteps approaching.

"No," he hissed.

The road was empty but for a few cars parked along the damp pavement, patrons of the small club he'd just exited. He could hear noise in there, music, laughter. His friends were somewhere in the modest-sized crowd, partying without him. He thought of going back inside. It would be safer there, wouldn't it?

But that was where he'd seen _it_. No, he couldn't go back in, not yet.

The noise had stopped. Where were the footsteps?

The next building was less than thirty feet away. He crossed the empty road, finding the sidewalk to the closed consignment shop. A nursery set stared out at him from the front window. It was surrounded by sparkling shamrocks plastered against the glass. A flyer beneath announced the St. Patrick's Day clearance the store would be hosting throughout the week.

Cody crossed to the side of the building and paused, the wide blocks slick against his back. He took a heavy breath and turned his back to the shadows, looking around the corner he'd just rounded. The square building that hosted the club had only one unlit sign above its door. The brightest light nearby came from the street lamp in the car-filled gravel lot at the building's opposite side. Cody felt his tension loosen when he saw a shadow walking out of the lot.

A person.

He stepped out slightly but didn't move further, his eyes going back to the club. The door had just opened. He held his breath and then released it slowly, seeing the normal-looking Latino couple standing in the frame. Suddenly the girl stepped out, pushing off the pawing hands of her boyfriend. She pointed at the parking lot and released a short scream.

Cody's eyes widened when he recognized the shadow of the being that had stepped out of the lot. Short and stubby, a tall, narrow brimmed hat on its head, heeled boots on its skinny legs. And a long, sharp object in its hand.

"What the hell?" Cody breathed.

He opened his mouth to speak again and stopped as a cold wind brushed by him and a stinging sensation ran across the smooth skin of his neck. A short, wet gurgle left his lips. Blood sprayed the wall beside him, his hand barely catching the wet mess. His eyes rolled back into his head as the shadows grew hands and pulled him deeper in the alley's darkness.

**0)0(0**

Sam blinked, once, then twice. But, somehow, the paper held in front of his nose didn't disappear. He reached out, taking the printouts from his brother.

"You _must_ be kidding," he finally said. "Did you look this up while I was sleeping?"

Dean's smile only widened. "What? You believe in angels, why not lucky charms?" He pushed a playful fist into Sam's shoulder. "Come on, Sammy—you know it'll be fun."

"I know it'll be a wild goose chase, Dean." Sam's brow furrowed as he scanned the article. "I really wish you'd quit reading the weird news section of Associated Press."

"What? And miss a case?"

Sam glared. "This is not a case, Dean. This is a knife wielding little person in a green ball cap." He stood to full height, pushing the laptop cover down. Around him, the dull light of a foggy midday lit the hotel room's garbage cluttered furnishings. "This is just your way of trying to distract me from helping you—it's not going to work."

Dean's grin didn't waver. "Come on, you don't think it could be real?"

"Suddenly you believe in leprechauns?"

"We're already packed," Dean insisted. "Florence is only three hours south—these people say they've seen a leprechaun, I say we owe it to. . ." He hesitated, his eyes drifting to the paper, registering a victim's name. ". . .Poor Cody Pierce to kill this son of a bitch."

"So this has nothing to do with you not wanting to save yourself?" Sam sighed, seeing Dean's eyes darken slightly.

"There's been two other spottings in other parts of the county."

"Dean, this is stupid. The modern image of the green hatted, buckle-shoed Leprechaun has only been around for a hundred years or so due to marketing and a few old poems passed down through oral tradition. There's no real evidence in Gaelic mythology that proves that the Leprechaun or the Cluricaun families of faery were any more than manifestations of. . ."

Dean raised a hand to stop his brother from continuing. "I don't know what you just said," he admitted, "but we're hunting this frickin' leprechaun."

Sam's nostrils flared in annoyance. He picked up his computer. "Fine," he announced.

"This is gonna be sweet." Dean smirked, all but skipping out the front door towards the Impala. He turned back around, sticking his head back into the hotel room, a look of concern on his face. "Alabama does have pubs, right? Cause I'm all about some green beer."

Dean nodded in assurance to himself, noting Sam's frown. "Or we can always make some or something," he swallowed, shamefully ducking back outside.

The date occurred to Sam: March 16, a day before St. Patrick's Day. He remembered the last time his brother had enjoyed green beer and clenched his finger around his precious laptop. Vomit and middle-aged Irish women didn't make for an enjoyable memory. Shaking his head, Sam shut his eyes, silently restraining himself from screaming before he followed in his brother's footsteps, muttering under his breath.

"Sweet," Sam snapped.

**End Notes: So, my first _Supernatural_ chapter story is rolling now. Sorry about the shortness of this chapter--it just needed to cut off here. I also wanted to mention that this was a challenge for the St. Patrick's Challenge at The Guild of the Fantastic Quill (if you want to read another leprechaun related SPN ff, check out Patricia de Lioncourt's work; she's in my favorite authors). Tell me what you think :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to _Supernatural_.**

**Chapter 2**

"You're kidding."

Leopard print. The night before, Sam hadn't really taken in what the room looked like. He'd been dead on his feet. But now, he had to stop in the doorway and take a deep breath to hold back the cringe. From the outside, the motel looked like the run-of-the-mill stale, one floored, cracked pavement variety, out of season pool included, but this room . . . was out of place. Animal print covered the borders of the otherwise plain beige walls and littered the wide lamps and bed comforters. Sometimes Sam wondered if Dean purposely asked for themed rooming.

Which might be the reason most people assumed they were a gay couple.

"Not as bad as some of them," Dean muttered, his voice muffled by the green, plastic party hat placed over his face. He smacked the hat out of his way and propped himself up on his elbows, disturbing the lively print on the blanket beneath him.

Sam wasn't surprised to see that Dean was getting an early start on his St. Patrick's Day celebration. The brothers had arrived the previous day, late afternoon, and scoped out the small city. They'd managed to map out the three areas where the leprechaun had been spotted. Murders had occurred in the last two of the areas, one at a frat house close to the local university, another less than a block from a bar turned rave. And they would have managed to check out both of the areas if it hadn't been for Dean. Sam had glowered at his brother through the frat house interrogation, mainly because Dean had spent two hours discussing best spots to get trashed on St. Paddy's.

The frat boys had been enthusiastic. Sam still wanted to choke them all. Damn his lack of Sith powers.

"What you got?" Dean asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

Sam snorted, kicking the door shut behind him. "Did you even leave the room after I woke you up?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, looking offended, "where do you think I got the hat?"

Glass clinked when Sam stepped forward, and he cocked his head, staring down at his feet. A brown bottle glanced off of one of its clones and wobbled across the carpet.

"And the beer, apparently."

Dean slapped a grin on his face. "Maria G. works at her uncle's package store. But, hard as it is to believe, she was sober the night of the little green man."

"Little man dressed in green, Dean."

"Whatever—anyhow, Maria's English is a little broken. And casted and broken again." Dean sat up, pulling a scrap of cloth from his pocket. "But she managed to tell me about her rugged relationship with her boyfriend, Jesus, and about the killer leprechaun she spotted outside the bar the night Cody bit it."

"She actually said leprechaun?"

"Yup. A couple of times. She also said something about a chupacabra, but I think that was in reference to Jesus." Dean smirked. "The boyfriend, not the other guy. She did find this on the fence separating the bar from the parking lot."

Sam took the cloth, rolling it between two fingers. "It's green."

Dean nodded knowingly. "Exactly." When he saw that Sam's eyes had not lit with sudden acknowledgement, he cleared his throat. "I know, I know. What you got?"

"The first victim, Kurt Wells, was buried two days ago, but I got a chance to check out Cody's body." Sam paused, taking a breath. "Dean, I'm not sure we're dealing with leprechauns here. But I think there is something going on. Cody's neck was cut by a jagged object. Couldn't have been a knife. And he was missing a lot of blood."

Dean's face hardened. "Someone communicating with a demon? Someone using blood in a ritual maybe."

Sam shook his head. "Let me rephrase that. He was missing all of his blood, aside from what was splattered on the building. The report on Kurt seemed to confirm that. Granted local law enforcement is trying to pass it off as coincidence—there were heavy rains the night of the first murder, and Kurt was found over a grate. They're saying the blood might have been washed away."

"So no freaky bite marks?" Dean stood. "So not a vampire? Hell, maybe it was chupacabra."

"Very funny, Dean." Sam shook his head. "So we've got a knife spotted…"

"In the hands of leprechaun."

"…Before each murder, but it's not the weapon." Sam's scratched his brow and sat down at his laptop, flipping up the screen. "Something's not adding up. The victims aren't connected in any way, other than they're males in their twenties." He pulled up a search screen and paused. "Both murders did take place at night though. I think we can start there. The frat house wasn't far from the bar, maybe we should go check it out at nightfall—maybe our creature hasn't moved on yet."

"Big frickin' _maybe_—can't we do this now?" Dean pleaded. "I mean, come on, Sammy! We're going to miss my last. . ."

"Someone might die, Dean."

Dean fell back onto the bed, putting his shiny hat over his face. "Fine," he groaned.

**o)0(o**

A dusty gray faded to the blue of night over the line of buildings, and the Impala rolled into the bar's gravel parking lot, music blaring out of its windows. They parked close to the other two cars already there, most likely those belonging to employs or others helping with the evening's festivities.

Dean hopped out and opened the trunk, his brother beside him in an instant, looking both ways for witnesses and security cameras. Finding none, he glanced down and his brother pulled up the false bottom that opened to their weapons' cache. Dean pulled out a sawed-off and handed Sam a pistol.

Sam reached in himself for a small knife with a celtic knot over its white handle. It was only four inches long.

"Iron?" Dean asked, a brow raised. "If you're going to believe me on this one, you should back something a little bigger."

"Just in case there is something similar to a leprechaun out there," Sam answered. "I doubt it though. I did some research, and there are several accounts of hauntings around this city—apparently it has a pretty rich history dating back to the Civil War."

"So I'm not carrying this for nothing?" Dean asked, jerking his shotgun to one side. It was rock salt ready.

"Well, there's nothing to link a spirit to these murders, but better safe." Sam stared down at the truck. "Machete?"

"Thought you shot down the vampire theory?"

Sam nodded, shutting the trunk. The two headed off to the sides to the small club. Sam gestured to the row of two floored buildings across the street.

"That's where the murder took place," Sam whispered. "The sighting was in the parking lot."

"Let's check out the kill zone," Dean said.

Sam resisted the urge to comment and followed his big brother toward the shadowed alleyway. Dean came to a stop before he reached the sidewalk, holding out one arm to catch Sam before he stepped into the dark.

"Hear that?"

Sam didn't answer, his brow furrowed as he listened.

Dean shook it off. "You circle around to the other side of the building," he hissed. "It looks like there might be a passage between this shop and the building behind it. If there's something back there. . ."

Sam nodded, his expression heavy with uneasiness. He slipped in front of the building. Dean didn't wait for him to make it around to the other side. Instead, he stepped forward into the alley, his eyes scanning the crime scene for a quick moment before he moved past, eying the green dumpster as he became enveloped in its stench. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow shift in the pale light filtering in around his body.

He raised his shotgun, brow low and watchful. His lip twitched when he heard the slight scrape on the pavement. Hoping for the element of surprise, he turned on his heel, gun at the ready.

A short chuckle rang out. Dean's eyes widened as he took in the small form walking toward the entrance of the alleyway. He saw the silhouette of a long knife, half the length of the creature's body, and his finger tightened around the trigger.

Wouldn't kill it, he reminded himself. But would hurt like hell.

"Now that be no way to treat a friend, Dean."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to **_**Supernatural**_**.**

**Chapter 3**

Sam stepped around the side of the building, happy to see that Dean had been correct in assuming there was a route from behind. The broken pavement turned to cobblestone, and the large stones that made up the walls to both sides disappeared, the backside of the store finished in mildew-covered bricks instead. A yellow bulb hung above an unused exit, the only light in the passage that didn't come from the streets beyond. Sam surveyed the area; a line of old trash cans, their insides burned black from use and seemingly empty, cluttered the tight passage between the two bricked walls. He pulled his pistol to elbow height, squeezing past the first.

"_Please._"

The young man came to a stop, hearing the whispered plea. He looked behind him and back again to the two cans ahead of him.

"Someone there?" he asked, his voice soft. He took a cautious step forward. "Let me see you."

"Please, don't hurt me. . ."

A surrendering hand slowly rose from behind the two cans. A woman pulled herself up, her nervous eyes glittering in the almost absent light. Ruddy, strawberry blonde curls fell over her bare shoulders and onto the tight breast of her green dress. She shook slightly, as if a breeze had brushed past her, and opened her mouth with an unspoken question.

Sam lowered his gun slightly but didn't step forward.

"Is-is he gone?" she choked.

**o)0(o**

It was a rare occasion, indeed: Dean hesitated, curiosity getting the best of him. When the creature didn't continue its approach, he lowered his shotgun.

"What the hell?" he snapped, as if frustrated by the lack of fight. "You know my name."

The figure lowered his blade, taking a step forward and reaching up to remove the hat from his head. "Oh, you don't know me, lad, but I know you—one of the Winchester hunters, am I right? I thought I might run into your lot at some point," he clucked, his heavy Irish accent clinging to the air. "Granted, I mistook us as being of the same mind."

Dean opened and closed his mouth. "Look, I know we're famous and all, but really, no time for autographs." He raised his sawed-off again.

"Now, now, we've no time for that." The leprechaun sat his weapon down on the pavement, raising his hands up. "Dean, you'd best listen—wait, where'd the tall fellow go?"

"What, so you can bleed Sam dry, too?" Dean snorted. "I don't think so." He gave a cocky smile, raising the gun. "How do leprechauns feel about rock salt?"

The burst of laughter was not the answer Dean was expecting.

"You think I'm a leprechaun? The Winchesters believe in bloody leprechauns? That's rich. Been chasing the Easter Bunny, as well, I'll assume?" The figure's chuckle dropped off, and he cocked his head to one side. He sighed, reluctantly. "Now that's simply disturbing. Must be the outfit—I just got off work, you see. A holiday gig at the pub, if you haven't gathered. The name's Nick McClean," he said, "hunter extraordinaire."

**o)0(o**

Seeing Sam's furrowed brow, she looked over her shoulder, her eyes darting over the passage's entrance and exit. "The little man—he was going to stab me," she continued, her voice at a whisper. "Please, tell me he's gone."

Sam frowned. The woman's words were laced with genuine fear, of that he was certain. But there was something else as well, an accent he couldn't place hidden in that careful English. He stepped forward, holding his free hand out to help her from her awkward hiding spot.

"We should get you out of here," he breathed. His body waved slightly, a sudden dizziness sweeping over him. He blinked it away, moving closer. "You're safe now."

"We?" she asked. Her slender fingers reached out for his, but she refused to budge, pulling him closer instead. "Are you here with someone?"

Sam felt the hair on the back of his neck raise. A red flag. But his mouth opened of its own accord. "My brother's on the other side," he said. He shook his head, his eyes roaming the soft skin of the woman's neck. "He should be here already."

She smiled slightly, leaning over the metal can. Her other hand reached out, cupping Sam's cheek tenderly. "Is he as beautiful as you?" she asked, her voice heavy.

Sam struggled to keep his eyes open. "What, Dean?"

The woman moved out from behind the cans, still holding the hunter's free hand. She caressed his chin a moment before her fingers wondered down and tugged the pistol from his grasp. Sam didn't reply to her actions, his head bobbing to one side slightly, as if he'd fallen asleep.

"Don't worry," she breathed against his collar. She pulled him down, sweeping her lips over his. She dropped the weapon to the pavement, raising her hand once more. Her fingernails had grown out into long, curling talons. "I only need one of you."

**End Notes: Sorry this chapter is so short. I thought I should end this cliffy here. But I'll post again soon, so no worries. Tell me what you think, please. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to **_**Supernatural**_**.**

**Chapter 4**

Sam knew he was slipping when her kiss came back to catch his lips again. Where had his weapon gone? He couldn't hold on to his thoughts. The woman was guiding his hand over her succulent form. He pulled away from her slightly, his fingers tangling in her hair and travelling past the curve of her chest. She pressed his palm against her cheek, but his fingers brushed out awkwardly, finding her ear.

He blinked, as if waking from a dream. Her ear was pointed.

"What the hell?"

The hunter saw her talons a moment before they sliced through the air. He ducked her lunge, falling to the ground, the pistol in sight. But the woman's hoof connected with its metal butt, and the weapon skid out of range. Sam's eyes widened as he took in what he'd just seen. A hoof. An animal's heavy hooves and furred legs disappeared under the long green skirt in front of his eyes.

He had no time to process this information. He gathered himself before she had a chance put her nails against his back and rolled sideways to the first trash can, slamming against it with a hard bang. His hand slipped into his jean pocket, retracting the short, prodding knife hidden there.

Sam stood quickly, stumbling back. The woman stepped forward, mistaking his movements as an opening. The hunter slipped past her hand and shoved the four inch blade above her left breast. She screamed, falling back against the other cans.

"The fly spites me," she snapped, her dark eyes red and glowing. A look of anguish on her face, she remained standing. The knife was obviously not going to cut it.

"Down!" a voice snapped.

Sam registered it as Dean's a second before the shotgun fired. He dropped to the pavement, hearing the creature before him squeal in renewed outrage when the rock salt hit her back.

She turned her back to Sam, rushing the elder brother instead. Clunky hooves hopped over the cans and her form landed on Dean, throwing its weights against his shoulders.

Dean kicked her off with one sharp movement but not before her talons had slipped past his face. Throwing her head up, the beautiful creature sniffed the air. A look of fear crossed her face, and she took off towards the exit of the narrow alley.

Sam crawled across the passage, coming to stop beside his brother's feet.

"Dude, you alright?"

Dean groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows. A line of red welled up and spilled down his cheek.

"Bitch scratched me," Dean snapped, irritated by the sudden absence of said "bitch".

"Good thing that's all she did," Sam returned.

He stood and reached out, helping his brother back to his feet. Before he could comment, his eyes caught movement in the passageway, something short. And carrying a rather large knife.

"Dean, is that a. . .?

"A little person," Dean snorted. He gave a half-cocked smile. "Not a leprechaun, Sam. Just like I always said."

"Seriously?" Sam breathed, too annoyed to argue back. He shook his head. "What's he doing here?"

"I should be asking that question of you, lads," Nick clucked.

He stepped forward with a slight waddle. His bright eyes searched Dean over. "She smarted you good," he stated. A slight smile appeared on his face when Dean dabbed at the blood. "Hurt?"

Dean glared. "Shut up."

Nick's round face tightened slightly as he tried to hold in some unwarranted excitement. He put his knife under his arm, holding it tight against his body, and clapped his stubby hands together. "What you do say we move to more hospitable quarters before we deal out the explanations?"

Dean looked to his brother for confirmation before turning to the short hunter. "These quarters have loggers?"

"Ah," Nick chuckled, "now I knew we were of a like mind."

**o)0(o**

"So you're a hunter?" Sam asked, not for the first time. He sat his beer at the tall table's center, shaking his head.

Nick nodded, a wide smile on his round face. His hat was back on his head since he was officially back at his side job as the St. Patrick's Day entertainment at the local bar and billiards establishment, the Smokehouse. Which happened to be located between the other club and Greek row. The brothers felt they deserved every bit of teasing that Nick sent their way.

The short hunter's legs swung in the air with a bit of excitement. "That I am," he said, "as was my father and his father before him. And we all hunt the same being. That's not to say we'd pass up a spirit or a shifter if one crossed our way, but we have a duty to one special entity."

"I know what you mean," Dean said, giving his brother a sideways glance. "So that chick with the fugly feet—she what you hunt?"

Nick chuckled. "Baobhan Sith," he supplied.

Dean blinked. "Sorry, dude, I'm not really up on the geek references."

"He's not talking about _Star Wars_," Sam scoffed. He turned back to Nick. "That name sounds familiar. Is it some sort of banshee?"

"Close but no cigar, I'm afraid. But good guess," Nick added at Sam's slight pout. "Think east of my home. The Baobhan Sith is Scottish in origin, though they've travelled the world over, I'd say. At least, they began moving about after hunters caught their scent. Now the baobhan and the banshee are both fairy women and both. . ."

"Wait a second." Dean threw up a hand to stop him. "Fairies? Are you friggin' kidding? That's what Tinkerbell looks like these days?" The hunter's eyes glazed over a bit. "Not that I wouldn't like a luxury sized version of Tinkerbell—I mean, that little blond was hot."

"Dean, you believed in leprechauns a few hours ago."

"Shut up, Sammy." Dean rolled his eyes back over to the Irish hunter. "So these fairy chicks hard to kill?"

"Down to business, then," Nick said. "You know of white women, I imagine? And vampires?"

At the boys' nods, he continued, "Well, lads, you put those together, add a dash of succubus, and you've got a deadly bloodsucker who hunts down the young, randy, and male. They can't take the daylight—more sensitive than a vampire. Iron is the traditional weakness of their kind. And they only come up to feed around once a year, so they're damn hard to track."

Nick's eyes danced over the boys, and he took their stunned silence as an opening. "But don't worry—we take down these last three, and they're gone. No reason for a history lesson on something that'll never bother you again."

"Then they don't reproduce?" Sam asked.

"It's not passed through the blood," Nick answered. "They're not vampires, as I said. They were made at once, and I don't know where they came from. Long ago there were six, but over time that number dwindled down to four. My father made it three. And I'm going to finish them before they get another chance to move." He sighed. "You have no idea how many years I've spent tracking them. . . I can't lose them again."

Dean raised a brow. "You won't," he confirmed.

Sam ignored his brother's confidence. "You said they feed once a year before they go back into hiding. And there's only three. There's been two deaths already." He looked from his brother to Nick. "So how do we know the third won't hunt again tonight?"

"You stuck her with an iron knife," Nick said, "that's how. They each only ever take one kill apiece. They're not greedy. And they always travel together. They won't move on until their sister is able to make a kill."

The bartender glared over at the table, whistling for Nick's attention.

Nick waved him off. "Well, I best be back to work—tonight's the big night, you know. Care to join me in a few drinking songs?"

The brothers quickly stood.

"Sorta tired," Sam supplied.

"What he said," Dean added.

"Where you lads staying?"

Sam pulled out a pen, jotting down their room and number onto a napkin. "Here you go—we'll meet up in the morning."

Nick nodded once. "My plan exactly. I have a few ideas as to where they may be hiding—we'll search the city tomorrow." He grew somber. "I'll do anything to stop them, lads. It won't wait another year."

Dean reached out, shaking the other hunter's hand. "We'll end those bitches," he confirmed.

The brothers turned, sweeping past a green clad crowd of college students filtering inside. Nick smiled at their backs, his eyes dark and lingering.

"That we'll do," he whispered, a laugh in his voice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to **_**Supernatural**_**.**

**A/N: Thank you for reading. I'm glad some of you are enjoying this. Several potential Tinkerbell jokes to come. **

**Chapter 5**

Sam was staring. Again.

The Impala rolled into a parking spot outside their room, and Dean killed the engine. He rolled his eyes, throwing back his head, his shoulders against the seat.

"What is it?" he sighed.

The younger Winchester was wearing a slight smirk. He unbuckled, grabbing his bag out from behind the seat. He bit his lip but couldn't help the snort of laughter that followed.

"What!" Dean said. His brow furrowed in frustration. "What's so damn funny?"

"Nothing, Dean," Sam said. Nevertheless, he continued, "I just think it's amusing. You spend the past two days in the spirit of the holiday. Now it's here, and you're ready for actual sleep."

"It's just a bit of a letdown."

Sam raised a brow. "You can't be serious. You're mad that there's not a leprechaun! I can't believe this." He cocked his head, turning towards the door to hide his grin.

"Knock it off." Dean growled under his breath. Pursing his lips, he shook his head. "I guess I just wanted them to be real."

"So, let me get this straight, no angels for you," Sam said, "but you were putting your faith in leprechauns?"

"Dad said they might be real," Dean muttered, his light eyes cast down at the steering wheel.

"What? When?"

Dean took a breath. "When I was ten, I asked about them. He said he hadn't run into one, but that he had a good reason to believe they were out there."

"It wasn't in the journal," Sam said, suddenly serious. He knew better than to ask if John might have been kidding. "What was his reason?"

Dean shrugged. "Didn't ask."

Sam held back the 'of course not' hanging in the air. "Who knows, maybe they're out there." His dark gaze danced over his brother once more before he opened his door. "Frankly, I think you're just angry a fairy nicked you."

He stepped out. Dean was quick to scramble out of his own side, unconsciously dabbing his injured cheek with one hand.

"Hey—least I wasn't having make-out time with Miss Hoof-toe," he snapped. Hearing Sam's chuckle, he dropped the anger, pulling out the room key. "Think whatever you want, Sammy. But let it be known," Dean said, catching up with his brother at their door, "the St. Paddy's beer is in the cooler. And we don't even have to sing a ditty about dragons and virgins to earn it."

Sam grinned. "That beats leprechauns any day."

Dean slid the key into the lock.

"Amen to that."

His voice trailed off when he looked down at the door knob. It had fallen off in his hand.

"Shit," he muttered, too late.

The door flew open for a split second and a hand reached out, snatching him by the front of his shirt. Dean grabbed hold of the wrist holding him, but it was too strong to shake off. He was jerked into the darkened room in one swift movement.

"Dean!"

Sam dove forward to grab the door before it could close. It slammed against his cheek, throwing him back in a slight daze. He grimaced, regaining his balance, and threw himself against the door. It held for only a moment before giving. Sam stumbled in, his hands out in defense. But the room was empty.

"Dean," Sam breathed, turning a circle.

His eyes searched the space. The bathroom door was open, but there was no window there. Where the hell had they gone? His breathing became laborious, worry wracking his brain. His gaze found the bed, and he stepped forward to look at the leopard print of the comforter. A thin red line was mixed into the pattern, a blood spray.

On the floor beside the bed were the car keys, beside them the room key that had also been in Dean's hand. Sam scooped them up and ran out the door.

"I'll find Nick," he assured himself. And Dean. Where ever he was.

"Looking for me?" a voice shouted.

Sam's eyes shot up. A van rolled through the lot, stopping behind the Impala. Its passenger's side window was down, and the driver was waving from the distance. Sam frowned, recognizing Nick McClean's round face even in the faint light.

He ran to the vehicle's side, opening the door to see that the little person was driving with the aid of a kit in the gear shift. Sam shook his head, deciding not to ask.

"They took Dean," he breathed.

"Yes," Nick said, a small smile on his face, "they did."

Sam's brow furrowed in frustration. "But you said. . ."

The small man put the vehicle in park, turning, his eyes full of childish shame when they landed on the Winchester. "I know, lad. I lied, truth be told." He chuckled at his own little joke before continuing. "Don't worry, though, your brother will be fine."

Jaw set, Sam reached out, grabbing the man by his leprechaun costume and slamming him back against the seat. "What do you know?" he shouted.

Nick's abashed expression disappeared.

"Many things, lad," he answered. "First of those things being that once a sisterhood of baobhan gets the scent of your blood, it knows it, and you. It can track its prey across a continent, and it will starve to death, passing up thousands of potential meals to find that one person. See, fairy always finish what they start. It's part of who they are."

Sam's eyes widened. "You used Dean as bait?"

Nick shrugged. "Aye. Suppose I did. And if you don't let go of a fellow's work uniform, the worm might lose its wiggle."

Sam slowly released him. "How are we going to find him?"

The little man shifted the van into drive, a grin on his face. "Oh, I have a few ideas now. How do you feel about Church, lad?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to **_**Supernatural**_**.**

**Chapter 6**

Dean liked waking next to heaving cleavage. He really did, there was no questioning that. So the smile plastered on his face was there before he had a chance to open his eyes. When he did, the smile dropped and he jerked his cheek off of said cleavage.

"This can't be as much fun as it looks," Dean muttered, wishing he could wipe the sleep from his eyes.

This wasn't the fairy Dean had seen in the alley. Her dress was green, too, but barely hanging from an ample chest now pressed against his shoulder. Her hair was spilling over his arm, tickling him. She stared down at him with eyes that were gentle, a comforting emerald. A lie, he was fairly certain.

Still, the man couldn't quite move. He was on the floor, lying down, and she was practically over him. A motionless layer of fog surrounded him, giving her the appearance of a dream-figure. Dean slowly pulled himself onto his shoulders, lifting away from her as best he could, but once he was propped up, he couldn't move further. His wrists and legs were in restraints that felt like thin rope. Dean's eyes darted down his body. He couldn't see what it was that held him down in the pale mist.

"Relax," the woman said, her voice sounding like a chiming bell and far more distant than it actually was.

"Yeah, it'll all be over soon," Dean filled in, a huff in his voice.

He attempted to keep his eyes off the swelling flesh close to his face and his gaze swept over his surroundings instead. There was no light from above. No, it seemed that, somehow, the room was being lit by the reflective hue of the fog pouring down the dirt walls like a steady stream of water and puddling on the floor. The chamber was only a little larger than the hotel room and without furniture. The only obstructions seemed to be tree roots reaching out of the misty walls, some of the larger ones arching out like seating areas when they curled down towards the floor.

Course, he also saw the other two baobhan, standing near a small entryway that was half the man's height. One of the fae was in pain, patting a wound that was producing a blackish puss. Her sister was at her aid, touching the torn skin gently and cautiously, as if the dark liquid were burning her skin.

In one corner, a harp stood, playing a soothing melody. By itself. Dean shook that one off.

"Dance with me," the fairy close to him breathed.

Dean shimmied out of the coming kiss. "I don't know, Tink. I'm not a great dancer. Now singing, that I can do. Now, maybe if you can string a little "Eye of the Tiger" action, I might be able to. . ."

He realized that he was rambling. And that his movement had not evaded the lips now crushing onto his. Dean groaned against her, feeling her hands playing over his chest.

_Oh, damn._

A hoof scratched his denim-clad leg. Dean shuttered, smacking his head on the dirt below him when he jerked out of the kiss. Hairy legs were a turn-off, for some reason.

"Frickin a," Dean gasped.

The fairy laughed. Her hand moved back up, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and yanking his towards her face. Her other hand was taking an unfair advantage to the situation.

Dean's eyes rolled back in a moment of pleasure before he caught himself.

"Hands off the merchandise!"

The fairy laughed.

"Barma," a voice hissed, "he's not yours."

Barma, the fairy clutching onto Dean, turned with a pout at her lips. It was the pained fairy, the one who had been attempting to seduce Sam in the alley speaking.

"You won't be able to pleasure him before you take him," Barma said, running her fingers through Dean's short hair. "Let me play, sister."

The other fairy hissed as her wound was prodded once more. Her eyes were an enraged red, nearly glowing in the misty atmosphere of the room.

"Fine," she snapped. "Make him ready for me."

Barma smiled, her pearly teeth, small and slightly pointed showing in the action. She looked back down at the hunter with that same wide grin.

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean asked, a streak of fear in his eyes.

She pushed him flat on his back. Barma leaned down close to his ear, a whisper against his lobe.

"Well, if a guy's gotta pick a way to die," Dean reasoned.

Barma went to her play.

**o)0(o**

"Church?" Sam asked, nervously eying the road that Nick was taking at a dangerous speed.

Nick chuckled. "I've been here for a few weeks, but it didn't quite occur to me until this morning past. The fae we search for are nearly impossible to find. They nest underground and hide themselves well, never too close to their hunting ground. . ."

Sam almost cut him off, but Nick pulled one hand off the steering wheel to beg his patience.

". . .However, in olden times, it was said that they gravitate towards their motherland. That's why hunters would carry a relic to pull their attention. I've been carrying a Highland man's bone in my pocket for a while now." The man took a moment to chuckle at his joke. Sam, on the other hand, didn't find it amusing, so the Irish little person continued with a short cough. "Hasn't been working, you see. I thought the sisters had simply been able to resist, but this morning I found records on a Church downtown, beside a small park at the city's center."

Sam raised a brow, asking him to continue.

"It was moved over the sea in the twenties, lad, brick by brick from Scotland." Nick grinned to himself, his small second chin sticking out proudly.

"But you don't know for sure?" Sam asked. "You set Dean up and you're not even sure of where the nest is?"

Nick frowned. "Well, it just sounds a bit dulling to the heart when you say it that way, Sam boy."

Sam's jaw dropped. "Dean," he muttered.

"Perhaps it would lift your spirits to look in the back."

Sam turned around. The van's back seats had been removed. Five long poles rolled around, a thick, red painted pole digger settled to the driver's side.

"Iron?" Sam asked.

Nick nodded. "Taint the ground," he said.

Sam shook his head. "We won't have time, not before it's too late for my brother."

"Calm yourself," Nick assured. "Suffice to say I took precautions with your brother." The man smiled, looking particularly mischievous beneath his costume's hat. "The sister might find him a bit of a surprise. All of the festivities and none of the consequences for that lad."

**o)0(o**

Dean's eyes fluttered opened again, his mouth agape in a nearly silent pant.

"Friggin' fairies," he breathed.

Barma's head reappeared before his face, her small smile still wide, though her pale skin was flushed a faint green from exhaustion.

"I wish you had been mine," she said, her small pout returning. "I've danced and made merry with many men through the century. You are one of the more entertaining specimens."

Dean nodded, his head scraping against the soil beneath him. "Yeah, too bad about that," he muttered, still somewhat dazed.

He was suddenly aware of movement at his feet. Dean lifted his head up, craning it to see the other two fairies approaching. While the injured one was still bleeding thick black puss, it seemed her wound was nearly closed. Dean took that as a bad thing.

"_Can't_ be good," he noted. With a shit-eating grin, he cocked a brow at the third, silent fairy. "Any more takers?"

The injured fairy snorted in is direction. "Just me, it would appear," she said.

Barma had rolled to his side and scooted behind him. She lifted him by his shoulders, placing herself against his back to hold him up in a sitting position. Her nails slid against his wrists, cutting loose his bindings, but she caught him before he could move. One of her surprisingly strong arms wrapped around his right arm and waist, the other lifting, her hand grabbing his head and pulling it back to expose his neck.

The third sister helped the second to the floor before moving to take his left arm. The injured fairy saddled Dean's legs, sliding forward to meet his torso.

"Slowly," the third sister said, speaking for the first time. Her voice seemed older than the other two's for some reason. "Remember your wound," she said. "Take him slowly."

Dean wished he had time to flip the older sister the bird.

The injured fairy reached out, pressing one of her talon-like nails against his neck. It slid into the flesh but didn't move to slice his throat. Nevertheless, it was painful and Dean hissed a stream of curses through his clenched teeth. She extracted it and leaned in immediately to collect the small line of crimson flowing out of him.

She suckled at his neck hungrily. Suddenly, she released him, throwing herself back off his legs. A cry of agony escaped her lips and her livid red eyes turned to Dean.

"Poison!" she announced. Her mouth was blackened when she opened it, the blood stained gums swelling and dark against her white teeth. "The hunter's poisoned me!"

Her body tensed and she raised her sharp claws, lunging forward on Dean's form, this time not for hunger's sake. Before she could reach it, a shot rang out and a bullet slid from one of the fairy's ears to the other, exiting with a wide spray of dark blood and matter.

Barma released Dean's head, and Dean took the moment to slam his skull back into the fae's face. She growled out but was too preoccupied by the appearance of their guest to attack back. A short dagger slid across the floor. Dean, his right hand free, reached for it, and swung it into bitch-fairy's restraining hand. She hissed but a shot to her head made her fall down in the mist, if only for a moment.

Dean slid the blade against the restraints at his legs, seeing for the first time that it looked to be hair of some sort holding him in place. Not taking a second to digest that, he pushed himself onto his feet, his eyes finding the familiar face at the entrance way.

"Sammy!"

His brother was on one knee at the small entry hole, hunched further down to aim his pistol.

"Dean!" Sam snapped.

Dean ducked down, and Sam pointed the gun at Barma.

"Get over here," Sam said, firing.

The bullets, accurate as they were, were not doing much good; all three fairy were back to their feet in seconds. Dean dodged their sharp nails, sliding to the hole. Sam had already backed down the tunnel so that Dean could fit inside.

Dean realized the flaw the moment he landed on his knees, crawling in behind Sam. Sam had stopped less than five feet down the tunnel and didn't look as if he was preparing to go further.

"Move it, Sammy!"

But Sam only pointed over Dean's shoulder at the fairies' misty chamber. Dean turned back, staring in surprise as Barma slammed into an invisible door at the entryway. Her eyes were wide in surprise and now a deep red like her sisters. Rage poured from her being. She turned back to the other fairies.

"Trap!" she hissed.

Her sisters released high cries of agony.

Dean shielded his ears, turning back to Sam. "What the hell just happened?"

Sam's dumbfounded expression lightened, a smile painting his face.

"I can't believe that worked," he said.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to **_**Supernatural**_**.**

**A/N: Thank you all for reading. I hope you enjoy this final chapter. **

**Chapter 7**

Dean and Sam stared down at the hole at the tree's base as if it were a gate to Hell. The brothers were covered in a thick layer of dark soil, and Dean held a cloth bandage against the nail mark at his neck. Blood stained through the white, but he didn't seem to be worried about it.

"I was bait!" he snapped, not for the first time.

The brothers had travelled up to the tunnel and out the barely large enough hole to find a grinning Nick standing with his arms crossed. Sam had attempted to explain Nick's plan without completely blaming the other hunter for their situation. It hadn't worked too well.

"Sorry, lad," Nick said, chuckling. He approached them from behind, pulling a small, child's red wagon behind him. It looked to be overfilled with square, carved stones. "Here's the last of what we need," he said, motioning for the boys to go to work. "When this is done, we won't need the poles to hold them down there."

"So, the Church didn't mind you taking their extra bricks?" Sam asked, picking up two and tossing them into the hole in the tree.

Nick chuckled, looking over his shoulder. The Church was less than a hundred yards away, looking like a steeple-topped cottage amongst the other buildings surrounding it. It was neighboring the park, just as Nick had said. Since it was still the wee hours of the morning, it was empty. As was the park. Thankfully, the city of Florence was too small to have a significant number of bums to play witness.

"For the greater good," the small man answered. "Now, you lads look a bit worn. Why don't you go sit in the van. I'll finish up the marker here."

"This is supposed to stop the fairies from coming up?" Dean asked, somewhat skeptically, as he picked up a stone and tossed it in the hole. "How's that work, again?"

Nick tutted. "Sure, the fae may be attracted to markers from their homeland, but to have one over them puts them to their sleep. This morning will be the last waking one for those three."

"That makes no sense," Dean said. He preferred things that ended with a fire. Fire was absolute.

"These matters rarely do, lad."

Sam stopped what he was doing, his brow furrowed. "Nick?" he asked, turning back to the other hunter. "How'd you do it?"

Dean raised a brow, trying to understand the question.

"Do what?" Nick asked.

Sam frowned, looking around the park at the poles spaced out around them, marking the borders of the fairy nest beneath them.

"We only had three of the poles driven into the ground when we heard the scream." Dean opened his mouth to comment, and Sam cut him off. "I know it wasn't you, Dean—I guess it was when one of the fairies screamed. I went down to get you. But, Nick, how'd you get the other two in the ground? How could you have reached the top of the pole to dig it in?"

Nick's eyes narrowed. "You're saying, then, that a man of my stature couldn't do such a thing? Is that what you're saying?"

Sam looked down, his face abashed. "Well. . ."

"Wait." Dean raised a hand, pointing at his neck. He looked down at Nick. "One of those fairy chicks tried to suck my blood and screamed, said it was poisoned. You do that, too?"

Nick's face was blank for a moment. Finally a small smile grew at his lips. "Say I did," he answered.

"You put something in my drink at the bar?" Dean asked.

Nick didn't speak at first. Sam looked up at the silence, his eyes clearly puzzled. Nick hadn't mentioned anything about poison.

"What, you give me a mega iron pill or something?" Dean added.

Nick sighed. "You two have much to learn about the fae," he said. "I'd never get enough iron in you to harm one of them. But they're deathly allergic to the blood of their own kind."

Dean blinked once. Then twice. "I'm not a friggin' fairy, dude."

"Not you , lad," Nick snorted.

Sam's eyes widened. He had stopped to lay the last brick in the hole. Now he looked back at the small hunter.

"You're a . . ." he began.

Nick smiled brightly and held up a hand. He gestured towards the hole at the tree's base. In an instance, a popping groan rang out and the bark began to move, shifting to cover the hole. Nick's eyes sparkled. He reached up, tipping his green hat to the boys.

"It's been fun, lads, truly," he said. "But I have a job to attend to. After all, the fairy, they take care of their own."

Nick snapped his fingers and faded before their eyes. The Winchester's stared on in stunned surprise.

"Are you kiddin' me?"

Sam nodded in agreement. "That was a leprechaun. That. That was a leprechaun."

"Crap. That's a twist. Or not, considering what we came here fore." Dean looked to Sam. "So. . .what do you think?"

Sam cocked his head slightly, as if still in his own mind. "He's still a hunter, Dean."

Dean raised a brow in agreement. "Yeah. I guess we shouldn't hunt him."

The brothers shook their heads in sync.

"The hotel?" Sam asked.

"My baby where I left her?" Dean asked.

Sam confirmed that the Impala was safe, and the brothers stepped out toward the sidewalk surrounding the park, moving slowly. They'd silently agreed to leave the poles and supplies for the city. Or whoever else came to clean up fairy messes—they didn't want to think too hard on pixie pick-up crews.

"Dean," Sam said, suddenly breaking out of his thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"You were totally kidnapped by fairies, dude."

"Shut up."

_**Fin**_

**End Notes: Thanks for reading. I don't have a direct sequel planned for this, but I might do another chapter fic where the boys face off with another creature from Celtic mythology. And, yeah, Nick might make an appearance if I do. Thanks again, and please leave a review with your thoughts on the story. **


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